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Now all he could think about were those ultrafeminine undergarments and what it might be like to peel them from Kyra’s body.
Her invitation to take her for a ride had paralyzed him for a heart-pounding five seconds. Jesse had zero experience turning down those kinds of invitations. Having realized at an early age that he was too restless to settle down, too much like his old man to tie himself to any one woman, Jesse had carefully constructed a reputation for himself as a player. With that legend-in-his-own-time aura preceding him, no woman would ever be surprised by his lack of commitment.
And in turn, he’d never disappoint anyone.
But the strategy that had worked like a charm for ten years was unraveling in a big way. First, Greta staunchly ignored all the hype about him and—according to what she’d told him earlier this afternoon—she’d sold her Miami Beach condo for an apartment in Tampa.
Now Kyra was suggesting a fling he couldn’t afford to take any part in.
No matter how much his body screamed at him otherwise.
Bringing the bike to a stop a few feet from Kyra’s long, low-slung ranch house, Jesse willed away all provocative thoughts as he disengaged himself from her. He needed a cool head to talk her out of the big mistake she seemed determined to make.
She slid from the bike with the fluid movements of a woman who’d ridden horses all her life. Odd that he’d never noticed the quiet grace and strength about her before.
“Come on inside and I’ll get you a drink,” she offered, slipping her helmet from her head to place it gently on the seat.
Jesse stared in her wake as she sauntered up the flagstone path toward the front door, her lace-up boots clicking a follow-me tempo. He’d been too caught up in her new subtle politeness to ride off into the sunset on his bike while he had the chance.
Shit.
How could he just leave without even saying goodbye? He found his feet trailing after her before his mind consciously made the decision to go inside the house.
She’d left the door open wide into the cool, sprawling home he’d helped her build on a patch of the Crooked Branch property five years ago. The mish-mash of Spanish influenced stucco archways, miniature Italian courtyards and contemporary architecture had been the first house he’d ever custom-designed from scratch and he continued to be proud of it in the years since his skills had improved tenfold. The house was so uniquely suited to Kyra he couldn’t picture anyone else ever living here.
He’d always felt at home here before. Today he had the impression of a fly venturing farther into a silken, sweetly scented web.
One quick goodbye and he was out of here.
“Kyra?” He didn’t see her right away as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting indoors. The sound of the refrigerator door thudding shut called him toward the kitchen.
She stood at the triangular island in the center of the room, tipping a longneck bottle of Mexican beer to her lips. A few damp tendrils of blond hair clung to her neck from the warmth of the day.
He’d worked side-by-side with her for years and not once had the sight of perspiration on her forehead turned him on. Was he so freaking shallow that all she had to do was slide into fishnet hose to make him start salivating?
Before he could fully form and analyze a response to that question—let alone say goodbye—Kyra set her beer on the kitchen counter with a clang.
Foam rose up in the throat of the bottle to bubble over onto the granite surface around her sink, but Jesse was too mesmerized by the sight of her strutting into the hallway to do anything about it.
Something about the take-no-shit attitude of her walk told him she meant business. He’d seen that determined stride of hers before when she was dealing with shifty horse sellers or uncooperative studs.
And he had the feeling he wasn’t going to fare any better against the will of this woman than the men who’d been forced to give her a good price on her horses or the studs who procreated when and where she wanted them to.
As a matter of fact, he felt his own desire to play stud rising to the surface in a hurry.
“Kyra, I don’t think—” was as much as he managed before she came toe-to-toe with him in the hall lit with flickering electric sconces intended to look like candles along both walls.
Jesse didn’t realize he was backing up until his butt connected with the stucco wall behind him. Her hands materialized on his chest as if to hold him in place.
He could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest half-exposed by her low-cut white blouse. His gaze seemed stuck on that creamy white flesh no matter how desperately his brain sought to unglue his eyes.
But then his brain had a full-time job simply willing his hands to ignore the overwhelming temptation to touch Kyra.
When her lips touched his, he lost the battle.
Sensation exploded through him at the brush of her soft mouth. There was a sweet taste to her that even the beer couldn’t hide, and he drank her in like water, swirling his tongue with hers in an effort to savor every nuance.
His hand moved to her shoulder, powerless to remain immobile any longer. He molded the delicate skin of her collarbone, his thumb dipping down to the gentle swell of her breast above the neckline of her blouse.
And then it was as if someone had tossed gasoline on the fire of his want for her. Heat exploded inside him in time with that touch, burning through him with a fierce desire to scoop her up and walk her into the bedroom he knew was at the back of the house.
He could only think about laying her down and unfastening the laces that held the leather garment together. About seeing the perfect breasts she’d been hiding from him her whole life.
She moaned low in her throat as she edged her way closer to him, settling those delectable breasts against the insubstantial cotton of his tank shirt. The beaded peaks rasping over his chest tantalized him to touch.
To taste.
It’s just a kiss. He repeated the lie over and over again in his mind, needing to give himself permission to hold her, to indulge this fantasy come to life for just a few minutes.
Her sunny scent wrapped around him with renewed strength as their body temperatures soared. The stucco wall scraped into his back, a discomfort he barely acknowledged while in counterpoint to the lush softness of Kyra plastered to his front.
Soft blond hair tickled his arm where it wrapped around her back, teased his nose when he bent to kiss her neck and taste her warm skin.
“Jesse,” she sighed as she tipped her head back, granting him free reign over her body.
He smoothed a hand down her arm and over her hip as he kissed her neck down to one shoulder. The feel of the leather corset in his hand called him back to the place where a neat bow held her outfit together.
If this was just a kiss, he wouldn’t go there.
If this was just a kiss, he’d sure as hell never untie those ribbon-thin leather straps and free the breasts he wanted so damn badly.
But with the encouragement of her hips wriggling against his own, Jesse tugged one end of the bow until the laces slid free. He told himself he would be content just to look. One glimpse of those breasts and he was out of here.
Then his gaze connected with Kyra’s in the moody, flickering hallway light. Perhaps his intentions were written in some small facet of his expression because she grabbed one of his hands and laid it to rest on her breast, catapulting him into major meltdown mode. The peaked nipple lined up perfectly between his thumb and forefinger as if to beg for his touch.
“Come with me,” she whispered, never releasing his hand as she backed up a step.
Oh, how he wanted to.
He wanted nothing better than to come with her about ten times before morning. To make her hot, wet and mindless for him.
But to take advantage of Kyra’s momentary lapse of judgment would be the equivalent of hurting her, sooner or later. Besides, he could somehow still believe himself redeemable if he didn’t seduce his own best friend.
Hissing a sigh between his teeth, he had to face up to that fact. “I can’t do this.”
Of all the rules he’d broken in his life, Kyra Stafford was one line he had promised himself he would never, ever cross.
THE FINISH LINE loomed ten feet away in the form of her bedroom, but Kyra sensed she wouldn’t be clearing that threshold soon enough.
Jesse obviously possessed powers of restraint foreign to her if he could stop himself in the midst of the conflagration that had been going on between them. Either that or those kisses hadn’t affected him nearly as much as they were affecting her.
The thought daunted her in spite of the molten heat churning through her veins and the tingly alertness of every square inch of her skin. But damn it, if she didn’t press her case now, she knew she’d never have another chance. Once Jesse quit helping her out around the Crooked Branch two weeks from now, she wouldn’t even see him as much let alone have an excuse to indulge in sexy captive scenarios with him.
If she was ever going to live out her fantasy with him—or have an opportunity to get over his sexy self for good—Kyra needed to act now.
“You can’t?” Kyra forced her breathing to some semblance of normal and scavenged for a teasing smile as she hoisted her corset back into place. “You say that as if you had some choice in the matter.”
Jesse scrubbed a hand through his too-long dark hair, his gaze straying encouragingly often to Kyra’s leather outfit. “It’s the right choice and you know it.”
“I know no such thing. I left the festival with you because I thought you understood what I expected.” Had she been so wrong to think maybe they’d end up together after he’d hauled her out of Gasparilla for mentioning nipple rings? She tugged the laces tighter on her pirate garb. “You can’t just quit the game now that we’re out of Tampa.”
“The hell I can’t.” He turned his back on her while she tied the leather straps into a bow. Squeezing his temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, he stepped out of the hallway and into the wide-open courtyard behind the living room.
“Spoilsport,” she called after him, removing her boots as she followed him out into the late-afternoon sunshine spilling across the terracotta tiles. He sat on top of a teakwood table facing a simple marble birdbath fountain in the center of the courtyard. “Maybe you ought to take me back to the festival so I can find someone more willing.”
She leaned against the table he sat on, giving her a rare opportunity to be nearly eye-to-eye with a man half a foot taller than her.
“You’re going nowhere today even if I have to lock you in the house to make sure of that.”
She smoothed one of the leather straps to her corset between two fingers. “Why not just tie me to my bedpost instead?”
He opened his mouth to speak and snapped it shut again. He swallowed. Flexed his jaw as if grinding his teeth. Then pointed a finger in her face. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“So show me.” He’d been with more women than she could count. Would it kill him to indulge her for a day? Maybe two? She edged her way closer to stand between his knees. “Especially since you robbed me of the chance to abduct a more fun captive.”
Trailing a hand over his thigh, Kyra absorbed the heat of him through her fingers. The bristly hair of his leg lightly scratched over her palm.
“You’ve temporarily lost your mind, woman.” Jesse imprisoned her wandering hand just as she reached his shorts. “What else would you have me do?”
As he held her there, immobile but far from powerless, Kyra could see the quick pulse in his neck, feel the tension in his body.
She insinuated herself farther into the vee of his thighs, their bodies a scant inch from touching. Leaning close, she whispered in his ear.
“I think I’d have you barter sexual favors for your freedom.”
4
IF KYRA HAD BEEN any other woman, Jesse would be well on his way to making her forget her own name by now.
As he held her slender wrist with one hand, it occurred to him he’d never restrained a woman’s touch before. Hell, he’d never restrained his own desire to touch for that matter.
Women had always given him the green light, and he’d always accepted it with pleasure. To hold back was an all-new experience. One which he hoped fervently he’d never have to repeat.
“Sexual favors have no place between friends. You know that.” He tried not to notice the satiny texture of the skin on the inside of her wrist.
“Since when?” Her other hand slid over his chest in a provocative swirl.
Before he imprisoned that one, too. “Since always. What kind of friend would I be if I let you sleep with a low-down two-timer like me?”
She lifted a sunny blond eyebrow and met his gaze dead-on. “What kind of friend would you be if you denied me the best orgasms in Citrus County?”
So much of his blood surged south, she might as well have set up a damn IV to his Johnson. Damned if he didn’t feel light-headed.
“My reputation has definitely been overstated,” he managed to croak in between gulps of much-needed air.
She leaned closer, her breasts brushing his chest. “I don’t think so.”
Somewhere between the brush of her breasts and her whispered words, Jesse must have let go of her hands. All of the sudden, they were everywhere, on his shoulders, spilling down onto his back, drawing him closer.
Such soft, silky palms. He’d seen her riding and working with gloves on a million times over the years. Never once had he suspected she’d been protecting such smooth skin underneath that dusty leather.
He reached for her—thinking he’d insert some space between them—but instead he pulled her closer when his fingers met the cotton of her skirt. Her hips were narrow along with the rest of her body, but they curved gently from her waist, providing an inviting niche for a man’s touch.
For his touch.
A soft moan escaped her lips, a cry both earthy and feminine. The note of hungry longing pushed him over the edge. He might have been able to resist his own sexual urges. But how could he continue to refuse hers when he’d never been able to deny her anything in over a decade of friendship?
Assuring himself he would find a way to keep things under control, Jesse slid off the table and onto his feet, never letting go of Kyra’s hips. He took one look at her flushed cheeks, her half-closed eyelids, and knew he wasn’t going to be able to walk away anytime soon.
She raised both palms to his chest and pressed him gently backward. Not that he moved anywhere.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she whispered, sultry as Eve before the fig leaves.
“I’m going to barter for my freedom.” He tugged her toward the bedroom, a room he’d built with his own two hands long before he ever suspected he’d spend any time within those four walls. “And I’ve got a sexual favor in mind that will curl your toes, melt your insides and make you forget all about playing pirate for the day.”
OH. MY.
Kyra’s footsteps followed in the wake of Jesse’s as he pulled her into the bedroom. She’d dreamed about this moment more times than she could count, yet a niggling fear gave her pause. Was he acting on seductive autopilot in giving her what she wanted, or did he feel a small measure of the same sensual hunger she did?
Or what if—God forbid—he was acting out of some sense of pity?
As much as she wanted whatever toe-curling, inside-melting experience Jesse Chandler had to offer, first she needed to be certain his erotic overtures were fueled by a little passion and not some misguided sense of duty as her friend.
And she could only think of one way to find out as Jesse drew her down onto the simple white linens of her king-size four-poster bed.
She dove for his shorts.
The move wasn’t exactly subtle, but until she touched him, she couldn’t be entirely sure how she affected him. Granted, she would have to be blind not to notice the man wasn’t turned on at the moment. But for all she knew, men automatically responded to leather corsets and a few throaty sighs.
Kyra had always been a practical, salt-of-the-earth type of girl, and she felt more comfortable getting her own handle on the situation, so to speak. She needed to see how he reacted to her touch.
“Holy—” Jesse’s swallowed oath and wide eyes weren’t exactly the reactions she’d hoped for.
“What?” She smoothed her fingers over the altogether pleasing shape of him beneath his clothes. She had little enough experience in this arena, but she possessed enough to be impressed.
Jesse’s eyelids fell to half-mast before he caught both her hands in his. “Have you always been this much of a pistol and I just missed it?”
Their gazes connected in the dim light filtering through closed wooden blinds and sheer lace curtains. Between the setting sun and the muted colors of the room, Kyra couldn’t even see where the dark brown of his eyes stopped and the black center of his pupils began.
